


It's just sleeping

by marieincolour



Series: The adventures of Clint "Baby Duckling" Barton [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Play, Bed-Wetting, Blankets, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint gets a hug, Daddy Phil, Daddy Steve, Diapers, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Infantilism, M/M, Napping, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Secrets, Wetting, little Tony, little clint, pull ups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieincolour/pseuds/marieincolour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Clint and Phil are little!Clint and daddy!Phil.</p><p>A series of oneshots, contains age play and infantilism. Not your cup of tea? Move right along. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ladybugs and sunburns

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains age play and infantilism. There will be diapers. There will be no graphic sexual content (or any other graphic anything). There might at some point be plot, and it might become a series. There will be more Tony/Steve. :) 
> 
> Consider this your first and only (ha) warning. If age play and/or infantilism isn't something you enjoy you've come to the wrong place, and no one is making you stay. Capisce?

"Daddy! Look!"

Phil dropped the paper-back book he was holding to his lap for the fifth time in about as many minutes, wincing at the jam jar containing green leaves and roughly three sweaty, only slightly squashed ladybugs held an inch from his nose. 

"I got another one!"  
 "That's great. Do you think maybe the ladybugs would like it better outside the glass?"

The look of consternation on Clint's face almost made him laugh out loud, but he managed to keep his face in a relatively neutral almost-smile anyway.

"No, see? It's got air, 'cuz of the holes in the lid, and it's got grass, and I'mma let it out 'fore dinner, Daddy."

He paused, scrunching his nose. 

"That one's sleeping."

Phil squinted down at the little ladybug with all legs up in the air, one little wing poking out. For all that Clint was an assassin-spy-superhero, he didn't handle death all that well. He nodded, instead, squinting up at Clint, still standing in front of his lawn chair with the little jam jar in his hand and a magnifying glass in the other. 

"I think it might be time for lunch, huh?" And a nap, he carefully didn't add, because giving Clint warning of naps or bedtime was one of many surefire ways to send him scurrying to higher ground. Such as the roof. Or a chimney top, probably.

Clint whined, but Phil could see the way his eyes were just a little bit red, like he'd been rubbing them with his dirt covered hands before coming over to show off the ladybugs. 

"Grilled cheese?"

"Sorry?"

"Grilled cheese please, Daddy?"

Clint rubbed at his eyes again, and Phil plucked the jar of ladybugs from his hand, setting it aside to empty once Clint is full of cheese and bread, and snoozing on the couch. "We'll see, okay? Did you have fun?"

Clint nodded, fists still rubbing deep into his eyes. There were grass stains on his shorts, and his shoulders and nose were pink-tinged and smattered with tiny, brown freckles. He had a smudge of sunscreen on his neck, but it was a sunny day, and that was hours ago. Phil rubbed at it.  
"You need a bath, baby boy."

Clint, predictably, whined as Phil herded them towards the patio door. "Don't rub your eyes until you've washed up. I'll go get lunch started, you go start getting cleaned up."

He gave Clint a little nudge towards the little bathroom at the back of the cottage, but Clint flipped himself around to lean against his shoulder, one finger hooked in his mouth.  
"Daddy," he mumbled, but let Phil tug his hands down from his face. "There we go, don't rub, you'll make it worse. Do you want Daddy's help?" He felt Clint nodding against his neck, and stroked his hand down Clint's sun-warmed back. 

The bathroom wasn't really big enough for two grown men to move around, but it worked fine to tug Clint's shorts and underwear off, and then dampen a cloth to wipe down his face and upper body, which somehow, along with Clint's underwear and shorts, had grass stains and little smudges of dirt rubbed well into it.  "What have you been playing, huh, baby?" He shook his head, tutting, and Clint giggled a little, letting Phil run his hands under the lukewarm water, squishing the little bar of soap between his hands. 

Phil tugged out a pull-up from the plastic package hidden in the cupboard beneath the sink, and ignored the way Clint's face reddened even more under the freckles. "Daddy…"  
"Yes, Clint."  
"No, Daddy?"  
"Yes, kiddo."  
"No napping."  
"If you can stay awake, you don't have to nap. You can just…"  
"Dun' wanna 'rest my eyes'."  
"Hm."

Phil carefully didn't point out how swollen and red Clint's eyes still were, busying himself with pulling a soft pair of cotton shorts up Clint's legs, Clint's hands on his shoulders. "Can you put on your shirt by yourself?"  
"'m a big boy," Clint predictably responded, scowling at Phil and promptly attempting to stick his head through the sleeve. "My big boy," Phil smiled, guiding the shirt on the right way up, smothering the urge to snicker at the sandy mess of hair that appeared over the neck line.  
The pale blue t-shirt matched the cotton shorts, patterned with fat little birds and musical keys. Clint poked at them with his fingers, looking warm and sleepy. Phil followed him out towards the kitchen, plotting ways to make the kid take a bloody nap, already.

"I yike cheese," Clint mumbled, practically falling into a chair at the table. "I know you do."  
Phil pulled out a cup with a lid and a straw from the fridge, with the leftovers of the apple juice he'd had at breakfast, and set it down in front of him to drink while the grilled cheese sandwiches went into the little toasting iron on the counter.

Twenty minutes later, Clint breathed deeply and evenly through a slightly blocked nose, one hand curled tightly into a soft little blanket with a kitten's head and arms attached to it against his face. The other stretched out towards an old, dirty Piglet, pink ears and pinker body almost tipping off the sofa cushions entirely. Phil had his arms full of laundry, sun screen lotion, and grass stained sandals, tip-toeing around the litte cottage. 

On the counter stood a jar, with exactly three leaves and no ladybugs in it. 

Carefully wrapped in tissue paper in the trash laid one of them. Phil made careful wishes with the other two, blowing them gently off his fingers. 

_Please don't let there be a call to assemble._

_Please let it be raining tomorrow._


	2. Proud to be what piglets are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil first found out like this: 
> 
> He opened the nightstand because he couldn't find his phone charger, and Clint, having grown up with a t-shirt and a pair of shoes to his name, hadn't ever actually learned to put things back where he'd found them, so going through his stuff to find whatever Clint had borrowed was an everyday occurrence. 
> 
> The white cable that peeked out from the nearly closed door came out with a tug. 
> 
> So did a few other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't meant to be updated yet, and it wasn't meant to go angsty, either. Sorry about that? I can, however, guarantee you that there will be no sad endings to this story pretty much ever, because I don't think I could stand to write them. 
> 
> No recognizable characters (Marvel/Disney) belong to me, obviously.

_And a piglet's not brave, it's true, but if he has friends like you, he might ride upon a wish on a star. And so you see I'm proud to be what piglets are."_  
—Piglet in "What Piglets Are

 

Phil first found out like this: 

He opened the nightstand because he couldn't find his phone charger, and Clint, having grown up with a t-shirt and a pair of shoes to his name, hadn't ever actually learned to put things back where he'd found them, so going through his stuff to find whatever Clint had borrowed was an everyday occurrence. 

The white cable that peeked out from the nearly closed door came out with a tug. 

So did: 

A spare set of purple hearing aids, emptied of batteries and not put back in their box, because Clint was nothing if not consistently disorganised.

1 medium sized Piglet, a little stamp on its foot proudly proclaiming that it was an _authentic_ Disney-store Piglet, and not a knock off, thank-you-very-much.

1 tiny, baby blue blanket with fuzzy fabric on both sides and edgings in a silky fabric, with what looked like the upper body of a cartoon cat sewn into the middle, arms and head attached in a way that made the little blanket look like its body. The cats nose looked a litte dirty, like it had been rubbed against something not quite clean.

1 toy car. Purple, banged up, little bits of metal peeking through the paint. One door had fallen off, and the back set of wheels were crooked. 

A little pacifier, still in a little plastic container. It had a monkey on the front, and promised to light up in the dark.

Phil thought for a moment, trying to find a reason that made sense that these things were hidden, albeit poorly, in Clint's nightstand. No one they knew had kids, and while Clint had a dog that lived in…wherever it was, which owned toys, Lucky didn't normally go for cars or blankets.

He sat there on the carpeted floor of their bedroom for a minute or two, thinking, flipping the little piglet in his hands so it's ears jiggled. It smiled happily up at him, the same grubby look on the fuzzy fabric of its face as the cat. It looked loved, broken in. 

The shuffling noises in the doorway had him look up, right into Clint's bright red face. "It's… I. Uhr."

Then he ran out of steam and disappeared out of view. And while Phil didn't necessarily panic at finding litte keepsakes in his boyfriend's nightstand - in all honesty he felt a little embarrassed at having poked at something that was clearly private - the sight of Clint running away from the entire situation had warning bells sounding in his head. 

He found Clint on the couch, knees against his chest and his head tipped sideways towards the large windows showing the rooftops of New York below them. He looked cold, Phil thought, and the lines of his shoulders taut with tension. 

He set the kitten and Piglet down between them, and folded the large, purple blanket Clint favoured around his shoulders. 

Then they sat quietly for a bit, shoulder to shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Phil finally said. "I shouldn't have opened your nightstand like that."

"Huh?"

Clint's grey eyes were a little red and shiny, and his cheek had little marks from his jeans where he'd had his cheek against them for the last little while. 

Phil held out the little kitten, made it wiggle its head like it was dancing, and frowned at the way Clint's lower lip trembled a little, before turning his head back to his knees, away from Phil. 

"Does it have a name?"

The silence between them went on long enough that Phil felt sure Clint wasn't going to say anything.

"Alfie."

"That's a sweet name. Is it a girl?"

"'s blue."

"I can see that."

"'s a boy."

Clint flipped his face the other way around, and one of his hands, long-fingered and tan, tugged the kitten out of Phil's grasp. He didn't meet Phil's eyes, so Phil did the only thing he could think of. 

He folded one arm around Clint's shoulders, pressed a kiss against his temple, and tugged at the blanket until they were flat on the couch, Clint squished in between the cushions and Phil's body, his ear resting right over Phil's heart. It didn't hurt, but even if it had, Phil wouldn't have moved for anything in the world.

Clint's hand wound itself into the velvety fabric of the kitten's blanket, while Phil set Piglet gently down on the coffee table. He felt the kitten move rhythmically against Clint's face, like he was rubbing it against his upper lip. _He's a tactile person_ , Phil's brain supplied, remembering soft scarves and whines about itchy wool. The insistence that any and all laundry be done with fabric softener, however girly it might smell.

"Have you ever heard of age play?"

The rhythmic movement against his chest stilled for a moment, then started up again. Phil felt Clint shrug.  
 "You know how some people play with power? How one person is a dom, and the other is a sub, for instance?"

He assumed Clint was listening, hoped he was cuddling the kitten not out of panic, but because he could, because Phil hadn't reacted the way he'd obviously feared. 

"In ageplay, sometimes one person lets go of being an adult just for a little while. Maybe they'll play with toys, or have a little kitten, or sometimes they'll go further than that. Sometimes it doesn't last very long, or it's just a little quirk, like how some people own more Disney sheets than they do normal ones," he bounced Clint's shoulder to make sure Clint heard the love instead of the jab, "and sometimes it's more than that. Sometimes people do role play."

They fell silent for a few minutes, listening to the hum of the tower in the background. 

"Do you do that?" Clint whispered, his face turning Phil's t-shirt damp and warm on his shoulder. 

"Well, if I were to age play I don't think I'd like to be little. Who would I take care of, huh?"

He didn't want there to be any doubt that he was intrigued, not horrified. That he wanted to wrap Clint up in bubble wrap and keep him close and sheltered. And that he wanted to provide it, not live it.

"Maybe," Clint whispered. "Maybe me?"

Phil kissed his forehead again, and let his hand drift up to stroke the soft hairs at the nape of Clint's neck. He'd almost expected Clint to fall asleep right where they were, but he shifted around a little, moved the kitten away from his mouth.

"I don't wanna if you don't wanna," he said, and Phil was 90% certain Clint didn't know what he was saying he didn't want to do, because everything was still so vague and undefined, but that was true for most of the things they ever did. Besides, when had a bit of uncertainty ever stopped Clint?

"You couldn't make me do anything I don't want to do, Clint, and while I'm sure a lot of people would find this hard to wrap their heads around, I don't."

Clint gave a snort that told Phil clearly exactly how much Clint believed that particular statement. 

"Well, think about it, hm? You could've been hiding a mistress, and I could never have measured up to that. Maybe you'd hid away some part of your life I couldn't ever be part of, huh? Instead, there's a couple of stuffed animals and a little toy car. And my phone charger, which, I will remind you, I actually need from time to time."

Another little giggle, but this one less self-conscious. 

"The fact that you hid this doesn't mean it was a secret worth keeping. It's kinda sweet and warm and innocent. I'm sorry you're embarrassed, but you don't have to be. And besides, I don't mind looking after you. It's not like it's that much of a change, huh? I'm already a decade older than you, and I've spent most of our working years together making sure you pack enough socks and that you don't forget to eat breakfast."

When Clint sat up a moment later and met his eyes he looked rumpled and a little sweaty, but had that crooked grin sneaking back onto his face. Phil couldn't help but give him a rare, broad smile. 

"My brave boy."


	3. Clint and the blustery day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were times when their home life shone through in ways that made Phil wish he could literally wrap his boy up in bubble wrap and keep him tucked away in his pocket until they were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Winnie The Pooh, and as per usual nothing recognisable belongs to me. I'm just playing in the sandbox. 
> 
> This chapter contains diapers, a lot of tears and mentions of pee, but nothing very graphic. You have been warned.  
> There are very slight references to the [Babysitting Tony](http://archiveofourown.org/series/254773) series by SailorChibi. Thanks for the inspiration. <3
> 
> PS: I'm not going to keep updating daily, but there will definitely be more. Have a great weekend, guys! Hope you like this.

_"I don’t feel very much like Pooh today," said Pooh._

_"There there," said Piglet. "I’ll bring you tea and honey until you do."_  
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

 

Clint sometimes wet the bed. It was usually limited to their bed at home, or while sleeping next to Phil. It was, if he was honest, one of the very few things Phil sometimes wasn't a massive fan of, because Phil didn't wet the bed, but he shared his bed with Clint. 

Nothing quite like the feel of soaked sheets to wake you up in the morning. 

While Clint himself was embarrassed and confused and more than a little frustrated that it sometimes happened even while he felt big, he stoutly insisted that _I'm not gonna do that, Phil,_ and then refused any more conversation on the topic. 

Little Clint predictably refused to wear diapers or pull-ups unless Phil wrestled him into them, because Little Clint invariably did wet the bed. And his pants. And whatever was in the vicinity, but then seemed to have some sort of cognitive dissonance that meant that five minutes later, he'd insist he didn't need to be changed or wear a diaper at all, Daddy. 

Or, well, that was possibly Big Clint shining through again. 

And to be fair, when he wasn't waking up with whatever part of his body touching the mattress soaked in pee, it was kinda cute. Decidedly cuter was Clint toddling around in sweats and a diaper, insisting he didn't need it, Daddy, thumb deeply lodged in his mouth and legos spread in a wide circle around him on a blanket on the floor. 

"'m building a garage for Lola," he muttered, trying to cram the purple matchbox car into a garage two sizes too small while the fussy white waistband peeked up over his sweats. Phil had a vague idea how the door had come off on the little purple car in the first place, judging by the way Clint was forcing it in through the garage door.

But there were times when their home life shone through in ways that made Phil wish he could literally wrap his boy up in bubble wrap and keep him tucked away in his pocket until they were alone. 

Like, say, midway on a transatlantic flight in Stark's private jet, after a lengthy bout of avenging that had left Thor, Natasha and Bruce to catch an earlier flight, and Steve, Phil and Clint to jump aboard Stark's plane with various bandaged limbs and scrapes.

Clint himself didn't quite remember how the fight ended, but he knew that was mostly down to the brick that hit him in the head before he fell a few feet to the ground, smacking into it in a way that had Phil scurrying over and forgetting that suits don't protect against bullets which is why you're in the goddamned van, boss, which meant Phil had a bandage on his lower arm where a bullet scraped past him - though thankfully not through him. Tony's suit had to be carried aboard in boxes, chinking and clinking like scrap metal whenever jostled while Tony whined that keeping the copyright on his suit was going to be a nightmare when he didn't know if he even had all the pieces to the puzzle. Steve had broken his arm, but Clint was pretty sure the way he was trying to wrestle Tony into a lounge chair to relax meant it was doing better, while Tony seemed incapable of letting the muscle relaxants and painkillers ease him into the same kind of exhausted sleep Clint was fighting himself. 

In the end, though, the slight jostling of the aircraft, the cool air and the medications took their toll on him, and he let Phil tilt their seats way back, flip out the foot rest and then tuck the soft blankets Tony kept aboard around them both. He blinked through a sort of lethargic fog as Phil leaned back and closed his eyes, twitched himself closer to him, and squashed down the unwelcome thought of how much he wanted Piglet, let his casted arm relax against his belly, and nodded off. 

The sun had set when Phil woke up a couple hours later, and there were no sounds of movement or conversation around him. The lights on the plane had been dimmed to a comfortable level that still allowed for finding the bathroom and not tripping over the various seats or low tables. 

A bit away from them, Tony and Steve had settled onto another couple of lounge chairs, blankets wrapped tightly around them, tufts of hair and limbs sticking out at odd angles. Next to Phil, Clint was breathing stuffily through his nose, his right thumb hanging from his open mouth, drooling a little onto his own shoulder. Phil thumbed the bruise on Clint's temple, then tugged the thumb out of his mouth before the others could see. It wasn't that big a deal, between smacking his head and the painkillers, Phil wasn't terribly surprised to find that his boy went for the closest comfort available. 

Clint whined, and Phil froze, because _not the time, Clint, please, not now,_ but when Clint's grey eyes opened, they were already shiny with tears. His expression was open, a little scared, and Phil was pretty sure Clint didn't remember where they were. 

"Hey kiddo, how is your head?" He asked instead, his voice a little gritty from sleep. 

Clint blinked owlishly, looked around the cabin, shifted in his seat, and burst into deep, heaving sobs. Phil's heart sank like a stone in his chest, but he lifted the blanket around them a little, and - yeah. Clint's pants and chair were soaked, right down to the upholstery. Even the bottom of his t-shirt was wet, and there were streaks down his legs. 

"S-so-sorry, daddy," Clint mumbled between snotty sobs, and jesus christ, Steve shifted himself upright in the pile of blankets over in the other corner. 

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Phil replied automatically, moving out from under the blanket and tucking it around Clint. "Yeah, it's fine, we're just gonna… Just go back to sleep, Cap."

And shit. 

Phil Coulson didn't say "gonna", and he didn't call Steve Cap unless it was over the comm unit in the middle of a fight, because _Captain America was his friend what the fuck even was his life._

Steve frowned at him like he could hear Phil's impending break-down and internal monologue, and then nodded, sinking back into the little jungle of blankets he and Tony had created for themselves. Phil saw Tony squirming back in towards the warmth, and Steve packing the blankets more comfortably around them.

"Clint? Come on, sweetheart. We gotta go get those pants changed, and then you can sleep a little more, all right?"

It wasn't all right, though, because he had nothing to change Clint into, nothing to change him with, and two of their closest friends and colleagues were sitting right across the room. Clint was confused, wet, and very, very little, and Phil _didn't know how to fix it._ He gave him a comforting sort of smile anyway, and started maneuvering them both upright, trying to keep Clint swaddled in the blankets so Steve wouldn't notice immediately. 

He got them both to the little bathroom, and while it was a lot bigger than a normal airplane bathroom, it wasn't exactly big. There was, however, a soft mat on the floor, and he spread the damp blanket over it so Clint could lie down. He did, his arm still held tight against his belly in the dark blue sling he'd been given at the hospital, and immediately stuck his other thumb in his mouth, tears sliding down the sides of his face.

"'m sorry," he muttered, and Phil couldn't bring himself to feel frustrated with him anymore, however panicked he felt know that the only solution he could offer the kid was to rinse his pants out with hand soap and have him prance around in his blanket until they landed.

"It's okay, kiddo. Daddy knows it was an accident, and I bet your head hurts, too, huh?"

Clint nodded, curling his index finger over his nose, and blinked out a couple more tears. 

"Daddy's going to try to find you something else to wear, all right? You just stay right here, I'll be right back."

 _Don't get frustrated with him over things he can't help_ , his brain whispered, like it was repeating a list on how to be a good Daddy just in case he forgot.

He was going to have to root through the cupboards to see if he could find a pair of pants, or some wipes or towels, or something that would make this easier, and he was going to have to do it without the super soldier with super hearing who was awake out in the lounge hearing what he was up to. Phil took a deep breath, unhatched the door, and almost crashed head first into said super soldier right outside the door. 

"I heard… Uh. I, you, I thought maybe…" Steve mumbled, blushing bright red to the tips of his ears. Normally, Phil would've been all kinds of fascinated. 

"Steve, you're making literally no sense to the guy. Hey, so. Hi? We saw the chair and heard you talking, and… Uh."

Steve cleared his throat, and then Tony barged on anyway. 

"We play too?"

"Tony, I," Phil began, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers, the other arm folded across his chest. It stretched the five stitches he'd had, but really, that was the least of his problems. Clint would kill him for letting Steve and Tony find out he'd wet himself.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, so, I think we can help."

And really, Phil couldn't do much more than follow in their wake as they rooted through cupboards, unlocked secret compartments and pressed their thumbs into little fingerprint scanners. 

"Tony sometimes wears diapers when he's little, so I keep a diaper bag stocked pretty much wherever we go. They're about the same size, right?" Steve said, tugging out a big, dark red bag from a little cubby in the wall. "There are wipes in there, a few diapers, and I'm pretty sure there's…" He opened the zipper, and flicked through the contents. "Yep, a set of sweats and some plastic pants if he needs them. Does he take a pacifier? This one's been used, but I think…" he stuck his arm in all the way up to his shoulder, and then tugged out a little baggie with a dark green and white pacifier in it. "Yep, this one's new. There's a clip for it in there, too. The bag at the bottom has powder and cream and stuff in it."

He thrust the bag at Phil, who caught it, dumbfounded. 

"You.. Play?"

"Steve, I think we broke Agent. Yes, we play. No, we didn't realize you did, too. No, we're not going to tell anyone, and when Clint feels up to it, tell him to come talk to me, and we'll have a heart-to-heart and it'll all be great blah-blah."

Phil blinked, because really, having a grown-up conversation with Tony Stark where he didn't snark (much) at you or poke at your weak spots really was a rare occurrence. 

"Now, as much as I'd like to rehash this little sharing of our deepest, darkest secrets, I think maybe the kid who's wet and in pain in my bathroom over there needs your attention, Agent?"

Phil didn't quite know how he came out of that conversation still standing upright, but really, after aliens and magic, it would take more than a little Tony Stark to keep him down. As he turned and left he saw Steve tugging Tony in for a hug, hiding Tony's head against his shoulder and swaying slightly from side to side. 

"Hey, baby," he whispered, finding Clint still on his back on the rug, exactly like he'd left him, naked from the waist down. Clint tipped his head back to look at him, his face still grubby with tears and grime, and thumb still deeply lodged in his mouth. 

"Daddy found what we need, all right? Let's get you cleaned up, sweetie. How are you feeling?"

He set the bag down on the floor next to them, and rooted around until he found the set of sweats in thin, soft cotton, and socks, a diaper, a pack of wipes, and even a onesie, dark blue, covered in red and white sailing boats. Just as Steve had said, there was a bag of toiletries at one end, and in it was a container of powder as well as a tube of diaper ointment, some baby soap, and various other bits and pieces. He set the little baggie with the pacifier and the clip down to the side just in case.

When he looked up, having put everything out and ready, he started getting to his feet to find a bag for the wet clothes, and another for the wipes. There were little hand towels hanging on the side of the sink, and Phil thought they'd do nicely to wipe Clint down a little, so he didn't smell like pee, and didn't have to use the baby wipes on his face. They tended to leave a rash, however organic and made for sensitive skin they might be. 

"Daddy?" Clint garbled around his thumb, his brows furrowed in a way that reminded Phil that little or not, Clint had a deeply suspicious nature. _Where the hell did all that come from_ was basically written on his face, and Phil rubbed his thumb over Clint's knee, propped up in front of him. 

"Daddy met Tony and Steve in the hallway," he started and Clint's eyes widened. Phil could almost hear his heart racing. "Don't worry, sweetie. They saw that you'd had an accident, which I'm sorry about, and then they told me that sometimes Tony is little, too. They wanted to help. Daddy has it all sorted, sweetie. They're not going to tell anyone, and they had an extra diaper bag hidden away, just in case. That's good, isn't it?"

He tried to leave his little story on a positive note, hoping it would help steer Clint in the direction of relaxing. Most of the time their play sessions were voluntary and pre-planned, but every so often, like now, Phil was reminded that however much they were playing, this part of Clint was with them all along. Just hidden away. The separation between little Clint and big Clint wasn't as tangible as he sometimes wanted it to be. 

Clint on the other hand gave Phil what seemed to be a very grown-up nod before giving his thumb another couple of sucks, and then blinked his eyes heavily. He'd stopped crying. 

Phil tried to make quick work of getting his sling off, gently and without jostling his arm too badly, but Clint didn't bat an eye. It wasn't badly broken, the cast mostly on for pain-relieving purposes, and to make absolutely sure Clint's arms - about as important as his eyes - healed as best they could. The wet t-shirt came off with only a slight whine when his head got caught in the opening, and then he was buck ass naked on Tony Stark's bathroom rug, little goosebumps on his skin and pee all over his legs. 

The baby soap smelled slightly of lavender, and Daddy managed to get the water warm enough that the cloth he used on Clint's face didn't feel cold. It felt good, too, and refreshing to know the water running down his temples was just slightly soapy and clean, and not salty tears that left his face feeling stiff and funny. He tried to twitch his head away when Daddy tugged his thumb out of his mouth and used the cloth under his nose, but Daddy wasn't having it, and more than anything, it made Clint feel safe. He relaxed as Phil had him raise his butt up and removed the damp blanket, replacing it with a changing pad from the big red bag. Something about it all made his stomach tingle in a funny way, but then Daddy was wiping down his belly and his legs with the warm cloth, and he stuck his thumb back in his mouth, even though Daddy had said no. 

Phil threw out the wipes and washed his hands, looked down at Clint on the changing mat, his legs slightly spread with the diaper on. He looked calmer, though the thumb still moved rhythmically in his mouth, betraying the stress of the situation. The aircraft dipped a little, and Clint's head turned automatically towards him. 

"Daddy's right here," he said, and dried his hands on a remaining towel, crouching down to help his boy get dressed. 

"Dun' need a pacifier," Clint mumbled, scowling down as Phil attached the little clip to the neckline of his onesie. "Dun' need dis, either," he snarked, tugging at the onesie.  
"Daddy," he whined, and Phil hummed. "'m a big boy."  
"Sometimes," Phil said, after deliberating. "Sometimes you're a big boy, and sometimes you're not so big? And I think, sweetie, that maybe you don't feel so big right now, and that's okay."  
He held the pacifier up. Clint let him put it in his mouth and gave it a couple of testing sucks. He didn't spit it out, at least.  
"These aren't your things, remember?" And Clint nodded, sitting upright with his legs folded in front of him while Phil put away the things they'd borrowed and tidied up after them. The elastic of the sweats came up just around the waistline of the diaper. Phil wanted to squish him, he looked so cute. Instead, he found a bag to put the wet blanket and clothes in.  
"Which means sometimes Tony doesn't feel so big, either. Do you think it's okay that Tony sometimes feels very little?"  
Clint nodded, blushing a little now that he knew where Phil was going. "So maybe it's okay that you're pretty little, too, huh?"

Clint fidgeted with the leg elastics of his sweats, and nodded at the floor. In all honesty, the soft, clean cotton felt better against his skin than anything had in a long time, dry and nice against his skin after all that time in his uniform, and then in the wet scrubs from the hospital. And maybe the pacifier wasn't so bad, either, because one hand was already stuck in a cast, so it was good to have a hand free. The diaper meant no one would know if he wet again, and the thought of having to ask for help to go potty seemed elusive and difficult. Besides, it was soft and dry, and not half bad, even though it spread his legs apart a little. He did wish he could've had his kitten, though. 

"What 'bout when we land," he garbled around the silicone in his mouth. "Dun' wan' the others to see."

"Daddy will take care of it," Phil replied, smiling and helping him to his feet. He was pretty sure Jarvis would help out. He slung the red bag over his shoulder, took the bag of laundry in his hand, and held out the other to Clint. 

"C'mon, baby boy. Let's get some sleep, huh?"

Out in the lounge area, someone had cleaned off their chairs. The area smelled of soap and air freshener, and the lights had been turned up a little into a soft, golden glow. Phil's inner clock told him it was very early in the morning. Steve came in with a tray of drinks in one hand, two blue sippy cups with apple juice, and two regular cups of coffee. It looked symbolic, and Clint fidgeted next to him. Phil patted him on his lower back, feeling the padding of the diaper under the onesie.

"I'll put that away," Tony said, relieving Phil of the bag and the laundry. "Unless you need it? I'll just leave it in the hallway for now, we can put it away when we land," he rambled on, and Clint hid his face against Phil's grimy white shirt.  
"Glad to see you're feeling better, kiddo," Tony said, then bustled off. 

They sat down in the lounge chairs right opposite Tony and Steve, the little table between them folded out of the wall with the drinks and some cut up fruit on it. Clint peeked up at them, sucking a little on his pacifier again. He hadn't meant to be little, but that didn't mean it was all that easy to snap himself out of it, either, when the world felt foggy and soft and strange like it did now, post adrenaline and danger. 

Someone had replaced the fleece blankets with soft comforters decorated with big, green flowers. They were oddly out of place, bought for comfort instead of style, and Phil felt all but certain the interior decorators responsible for the beige and wood-look of the plane hadn't had anything to do with purchasing them. It felt like they'd passed some sort of test, he and Clint, and had been let into the personal realm of Tony and Steve's lives. 

But then he supposed it didn't get much more personal than borrowing diapers. 

Clint looked sleepy under the comforter, his head tilted in towards Phil, his casted arm set safely on top of the green flowers. He'd managed to eat some banana without getting it all over his face, which Phil counted as a win, and sippy cups really should be obligatory on aircrafts everywhere. It helped, too, that Tony folded his legs up in front of him, leaned against Steve's shoulder, had banana over most of his hands and face and didn't seem to bat an eye at the sippy cup he'd been given. They observed each other, but didn't say anything.

"I think," Steve finally said, getting to his feet and moving the drinks and remaining fruit off the table so he could fold it back down, "it's time for a nap. It's still early, and the whole day is going to be ruined if you don't get some sleep."

Phil smiled at the way he'd included both of the boys, and watched surreptitiously as Tony blinked big, brown eyes up at Steve, who dug a pacifier out of his pocket and handed it over, and then winked at Clint. 

Clint on his hand gave his pacifier another tentative suck, shifted so his feet were on the foot rest and the comforter all the way up on his chest, leaned his head against Phil, and tried not to feel like he was sitting on a pillow. He was dry and warm, and his Daddy had everything taken care of. 

Really, flying with Tony and Steve wasn't so bad.


	4. Can we be the good guys?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was one of those quiet afternoon in the tower when there were no alarms and no danger. Just the wintery sun setting early, hot soup, pretend-pirates and nap time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely plotless, sheer fluff, written in like... An hour. Which means I haven't read through. _Again._  
>  No tension at all (I should totally get on that). Steve and Tony snuck into my brain, and wouldn't leave until I wrote them down, but all they wanted to do was have soup, look for pirates, and then nap. Hope you guys like it anyway. :)) 
> 
>  
> 
> As per usual, nothing recognisable belongs to me, I'm only borrowing.

_And really, it wasn’t much good having anything exciting like floods, if you couldn’t share them with somebody._  
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

 

 

It wasn't that hard to notice when it was time, Steve thought, looking over at Tony sitting on his sofa - because why use the gigantic, hugely expensive living room upstairs when Steve's got perfectly good furniture from IKEA and thrift stores right here - biting his nails, looking like he was about to vibrate off the cushions any second. 

The hard part was getting Tony to agree that he was about to implode.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers."  
"Are Phil and Clint home?"

"They are indeed, Captain Rogers. And if I may, Ms. Romanov isn't expected home until tomorrow, and Mr. Banner is currently doing yoga, and has plans to go out this afternoon. Your area of the tower is all but empty."

Steve wasn't sure if he imagined the slight tone of approval in Jarvis' voice. They hadn't discussed this _thing_ they had in common, but while Tony snoozed on Steve's shoulder, and Clint fought sleep with every fiber of his being a few feet away, Phil and Steve had shared fond and amused looks over the hum of the airplane. Steve was pretty sure Phil was the same kind of Daddy he himself was, which was to say he doesn't mind sometimes sharing this thing with them, if only because seeing others enjoy the same mindset might help both Tony and Clint accept themselves just that little bit more. 

"Tony? Do you want to play pirates?"

It was a question that could go either way, but instead of glaring up at him and making Steve blush at having suggested it, Tony looked up over the back of the couch with a halfway hopeful, halfway bashful expression on his face, his thumbnail still between his teeth. They watched each other for a second - felt like an hour - and then Tony blinked. 

"Can we be the good guys?"

"Who else would we be, huh? And maybe we'll go knock and see if Clint wants to play?"

"Clint?"

"Don't you think he'd enjoy a game of pirates?"

"He can't go in the air ducts, St-Daddy. We'll never find him again." 

Not wishing to rehash the whole "If you crawl in my air ducts again I will evict you, Barton"-argument, which was untrue on _every single level_ , Steve smiled patiently at his kid. 

"I think we'd better get you in some play-friendly clothes first."

Tony splayed his hand flat on his stomach, displaying the oil stains all over himself and over his clothes. "I was in the workshop," he says, and rubs his hand up and down, as if it'd help. 

"I know. Come on, I've got some clean things for you."

He tried not to spend too much time watching Tony toddle ahead of him into the bedroom, but that moment where he went from Tony Stark to Tony really was his favourite thing pretty much ever. 

-

"Wanna go play with Tony and Steve, Daddy!"

Phil peeked up over the edge of the couch, reading glasses tipped low on his nose and a ballpoint pen in his hand. Tony and Steve stood in the doorway, Tony in blue sweats and Steve in jeans and a t-shirt, looks of excitement on both of their faces. Tony held a pocket mirror in his hand. It took Phil only a moment to realize he was using to peek around the corner of their apartment, an intense expression on his face. He had a Sheriff's badge pinned to his t-shirt and what looked like plastic handcuffs half hanging out of his pocket.

"I can go play, Daddy?"  
Clint was almost quivering in front of him, his socked feet curling up while one hand twisted the hem of his t-shirt. He held the other one in front of his face, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to suck his thumb or simply fiddle with it, and ended up rubbing his mouth with a fist instead. 

"You need to potty first?"

Clint's eyes dropped to the slight bulge in his sweats where his pull-ups were hidden, the back of them only sticking up a tiny little bit where the elastic of his pants dipped in the back, but otherwise invisible. He shook his head, and Phil sighed. _Too eager to potty_ , he thought to himself. _That's_ a good sign.

"Tell Steve if you need to, all right? And come back in half an hour for lunch." _And a change and a nap_ , he thought to himself again, trying not to feel to anxious at leaving his boy alone with Steve for the first time. Clint, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any qualms going off to play. 

"C'n I bring Piglet?"

_Or one or two tiny qualms after all_. Phil's eyes strayed to the grubby, pink Disney-toy abandoned on the quilt he'd spread on the floor earlier, surrounded by Duplos and little toy cars, a sippy cup half filled with juice, and what looked like a fuzzy cloth square with a little kitten sewed to the top. 

"Piglet has to stay here. You built him a bed, he needs to nap in it so he's all ready to look after you when you come back, all right? Be a good boy, and don't jump down the stairs again, baby."

"'m not a baby!" Clint protested, already toddling over to Steve to grab his hand, peering excitedly around the door frame for pirates. Phil heard him and Tony giggling all the way over to the exit door, Steve's rumbling voice in between. He saw them peering carefully into the hallway, shrieking when Steve jumped back, flattening himself against the wall like there were people out there they'd need to hide from. A moment later, they peered around the door frame again, plotting. 

He shouldn't really be jealous. Steve was younger, more prone to games than he himself was. He'd taken to Mario Kart like it was a new religion, and it was no wonder he was good at making up pirates without triggering PTSD in his charges. Besides, Phil was good at other things. _Lots_ of other things, probably.

Two hours later he'd picked up the toys and the blanket, straightened out the kitchen and the bathroom, and set the soup from yesterday to re-heat on the stove while some bread warmed up in the oven.  
 "Jarvis? Where is Clint?"

"Young master Clint is on his way to your apartment, sir, along with Captain Rogers and young master Stark."

"Is he all right?" Phil immediately asked, wiping his hands off on a kitchen towel and starting for the door. Clint hadn't slept more than a few hours the previous night, waking up a little weepy and cranky. Phil had been waiting for him to doze off when Steve and Tony turned up.

"The young master appears to be tired of playing, sir."

There was a commotion at the door then, and Steve appeared, Clint on one hip and Tony trailing behind, his hand wrapped tightly in Steve's flannel shirt. Steve looked a little flustered, and it took Phil about a second to notice that Clint was sniffling into his collar while Tony sucked anxiously on his red pacifier. "Daddy," Clint muttered around Steve's collar, while reaching out for Phil. Phil caught his hand, and kissed his wrist lightly. "Can you take him to the bathroom, Steve? There's soup on in the kitchen, there's enough for the two of you as well."  
Clint whined, still holding out his hand, and Phil winked at him. "Daddy will be right there, sweetie."  
Secretly, he thought Clint rather enjoyed getting a lift from Steve, even with Tony toddling right behind them.

After turning down the heat on the soup so it wouldn't burn, he grabbed fresh PJ's and socks from the laundry and made his way to the bathroom just as Steve and Tony left. Clint sat on the bathroom rug, a fluffy, off-white thing that felt warm underfoot on the heated tiles. His face was damp with tears, his eyes swollen and red, and his breath hitched uncontrollably. Phil could see his pants were damp, too, where the pull-up had leaked. 

"Had a big day, huh, sweetie?"

Clint blinked, then nodded, his breath still hitching. "Wan' a hug first," he mumbled. Phil nodded, and ran a hand through the little cowlick his hair inevitably curled up into. "Okay, sweetie. C'mere."

"Dun' wanna bath, Daddy," he said, and Phil shook his head. "You had a bath last night. It's okay, we can just do a kitty bath, huh?" Daddy thumbed the hair on the side of his head, and Clint twitched away, still rubbing at his eyes. "I think we should clean your face and get you into clean jammies instead of that icky pull-up."  
"'s clean," Clint muttered, tugging a little at the t-shirt he wore. It was _too_ clean.  
"Maybe the one with puppies," Phil suggested, pretending he hadn't heard. "But… But… Yeah, 'kay, Daddy." Clint allowed him to tug the stained t-shirt over his head and toss it to the side. However much he protested, the puppies really were his favourite.

Washing the face of a little boy who didn't want to stand still, didn't want to sit down, but didn't want to move, and didn't want Daddy to help wasn't the easiest. They were balancing that precarious edge of exhaustion that would throw them both into bouts of crying tantrums and sniffled apologies on the naughty step. He tugged the diaper bag out from the cupboard closest to them.  
 "No diaper. Dun' need one."  
"Daddy says diaper. You're not so big today."  
"Dun' wan' one. 'm a big boy!"  
Big boy didn't always translate into pottying, especially while exhausted and sleeping, and Phil doubted very much that Clint was as big as he claimed.  
"Diaper now, and if you stay dry we'll reconsider, all right?"  
"But Tony 'n Steve are gonna see, Daddy," he whined, breath hitching again. "Tony sometimes wears a diaper too, Clint. You know that."  
"Yeah, but Tony's gunna think 'm always dis yiddle," Clint mumbled, blushing a little, thumb buried in his mouth again with his index finger curled up over his nose.  
"Do I have an embarrassed little boy today?" Phil asked, and kissed Clint's forehead while pushing him to lie down on the rug. 

It did feel better to be dry, Clint thought, rubbing his eyes and splaying his legs apart a little while Daddy wiped him down quickly. The air smelled like powder and lotion, and his face was a little wet from the damp cloth Daddy had run over it. He dozed, thinking about pirates and puppies, and didn't notice Daddy fastening the little clip with his pacifier to the chest pocket on his pajama top. He wanted to complain and tell Daddy he was a big boy, but he wanted food more, and besides, Tony had had a pacifier all the time today and maybe it was okay?

"Clint, sweetie? Come on, let's go have lunch. Tony and Steve are waiting for us."

\--

Tony hadn't been to Clint and Phil's apartment before. He knew the layout, of course, but they'd requested that he didn't furnish it for them. He'd sent them the number of the contractors working on the place, and let them hash it all out between them. 

Their kitchen wasn't as large as the one he had upstairs, which he was hoping to con Steve into moving into, but it was cozy. Warm. There were only two windows on the wall facing the side of the tower, parallel with the living room, but they'd blocked off parts of the wall so the windows didn't go from floor to ceiling. Tony liked it. It smelled of soup and bread, which were _good things_ , and the open cupboard over the counter showed a collection of sippy cups, bottles and glasses with Disney characters on them. He pointed.   
 "Mm!"

"I know, I saw it, too," Daddy whispered, rubbing his nose against Tony's ear. He twisted around to get away from it, but smiled around the pacifier. 

"You can have some like those if you want, kiddo," he said, and Tony shrugged. They did look fun, particularly the ones with lids and curly straws. 

Clint and Phil walked in, then, and Clint settled into a chair at the opposite side from Tony and Steve. Tony hadn't expected to like Clint as much as he did, even though he was a bit of a crybaby, and wanted his Piglet to be the hero every single time they found a pirate, _even though he wasn't even there._

His eyes were still red, and he was still sniffling a little, and Tony knew how that felt. 

Phil set down two bowls in front of him and Steve, though the blue one with Moomin on it stood to the side, in front of the chair Tony was supposed to be sitting in. Steve lifted him over, and Tony tried not to squirm too much when Phil handed over what looked like a terry cloth dishtowel with lace. He didn't need a bib. But then Clint was wearing one, too, and he looked just as disgruntled as Tony did, so he was about to spit out his pacifier and complain loudly when Daddy took his pacifier anyway. 

"Don't need this while you're eating, kiddo. What's with the face?"

Tony tugged at the thing on his chest which had balloons on it. 

"Do you want the sheriff t-shirt to go in the laundry when we get back?"

Tony shook his head. 

"Do you remember what happened last time you had soup?"

Tony nodded.

"Well, then. Do you want Daddy to put butter on your bread for you?"

Tony nodded. On the other side of the table, Clint looked a little pink, but hadn't torn off his stupid bib, either. In fact, he wasn't doing much of anything, poking at his food without eating any of it. Phil manipulated him into about half the bowl before Clint yawned so big his jaw creaked. Tony felt his face tug into a sympathy yawn. Steve and Phil gave each other amused glances Tony pretended not to notice, chewing away on his bread instead. It was warm, the crust crunchy and tasty. It was nice. 

The windows outside had darkened while they sat at the table, and Tony stuck the sippy cup in his mouth and leaned back, looking out at the afternoon lights in the city. Daddy ran his hand through his hair, and Tony's head followed the movement. Clint blinked heavy lids, staring listlessly at his food with his thumb sneaking closer to his mouth. 

He let the conversation wash over him for a little while, until Clint's head jerked forwards and then straightened back up. Daddy chuckled, burying his hands under Tony's armpits, settling him on his hip while Phil tugged Clint to his feet. 

\--

Clint didn't usually nap in their bed, but Phil figured he'd be out for a while, and he didn't want to tip-toe around their apartment so he wouldn't wake up. Instead, he folded the duvet up around Clint's shoulders, offered up the pacifier that lived in a little box on their nightstand, and watched as Clint rubbed the baby blue fabric of the kitten against his upper lip, blinking out at nothing. 

"Was it fun playing with Steve and Tony?"

Clint nodded, twisting his head into the pillow. He looked sleepy and warm, and Phil smiled. 

"Steve's nice," he garbled, blushing, and Phil laughed. "Tony, too?"  
"Uh-huh. Wan' play 'gain."

Phil settled on the opposite side of the bed despite having planned to use nap time to tidy up, laptop on his lap and paperwork spread like a fan around him while Clint breathed deeply and evenly beside him. 

A bit above them, Steve settled Tony down on the couch, and shook out the soft blanket that usually hung over the back. 

"Nap with me?" Tony mumbled, stretching with his arms straight up behind him. A slight sliver of his belly and ruffled white pull-up was visible between his sweats and t-shirt. Steve smiled, and let Tony twist his face into his chest. "Yeah, we can nap together, kiddo. You have fun today?"

"Uh-huh. Clint really likes his pig."

"Kinda like how you like Dummy, huh?" Steve replied, wiggling the head of the droopy penguin Tony had clutched against his chest. Tony tugged it closer, scowling a little. 

"Maybe play with Clint 'gain?"

"Yeah, kid. Think we can manage that."


	5. Stuck in the middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitty and Piglet were all in favour of watching Brave again, but Clint really, really wanted to watch Fraggle Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied. There's another chapter a lot quicker than intended, because it's raining and I skipped my lecture. I've got my priorities straight. 
> 
> Nothing recognisable belongs to me this time, either. Still just borrowing.

_“It's so much more friendly with two.”_  
― A. A. Milne, _Winnie the Pooh_

______

 

It wasn't late. Phil was still in a meeting, but that didn't mean much, because Phil did video conferences with people on the other side of the globe sometimes and had to get up at 4AM and get back to bed at 6AM while Clint snoozed away, waiting for his alarm to go off so he could go shoot at things and be grumpy and drink coffee.

But it wasn't that late _now_. He just hadn't gotten up to switch on the living room lights, so it just _looked_ like it should be really late, and the TV was set to some idiotic show about… He didn't actually know. A sweaty, angry man running a lot, apparently, which wasn't necessarily his favourite show. He'd been a sweaty, running man enough today, thanks. 

He was bored. And he kinda wanted to watch Fraggle Rock on Netflix and sing along, and he kinda wanted to curl up in his PJ's and enjoy the soft cotton on his legs when they'd been damp from the chilly rain most of the day.

It just felt like such a long way away to drag himself all the way into the bathroom. He juggled it back and forth in his head for the longest time, finally dragging himself off the couch because he was probably gonna end up having to get up anyway, and it didn't matter if he did it now or later. He showered, threw his damp clothes in the laundry pile, and rubbed at his skin with soap until he was squeaky clean pretty much everywhere. And then he spent about fifteen minutes deliberating over what to wear. 

Where his underwear drawer had once been filled with black briefs and black socks in varying states of washed-out grey, the right hand side was filled with colourful underwear and - embarrassingly - a few diapers and pull ups Phil had put aside just in case the bag he'd hid in the closet was… Teleported to Asgard or something, probably. Whatever. 

But it _wasn't_ 'whatever'. He kinda wanted to… But did he? That was weird, right? Totally weird. _Really_ weird. And… Kinda nice, too. In a funny way. Sorta nice? 

And besides, Phil wouldn't be home for another couple of hours, and he could put on the new sweats Phil bought last week that were _purple,_ which was _awesome,_ and he could wear those fuzzy new socks and… 

He jumped on the chance before he could feel too disgusted with himself. He pulled out a diaper wedged down right in the middle, but didn't look too closely at the teddy bears decorating it. He'd need powder, probably. And Daddy always used that cream, but that was icky, and Clint was doing it himself, so Daddy would never, ever know if he didn't. Once the tapes were fastened over his waist the feeling of shame he'd expected to wash over him morphed into contentment, of sorts, like Daddy was _right here_ , and Clint was fine, and he was just going to go watch Fraggle Rock on the couch with Piglet and Kitty until Daddy came home and they could all watch it together. It was fine.  _Fine._

He toddled into the living room with Piglet and Kitty clutched tightly against his chest with one arm, but abandoned them on the couch to root through the kitchen cupboards. There were Dinosaur Cookies, like Clint had known there would be, and the blue sippy cup with apples all over it was clean and right up in front of the kitchen glasses and _no regular glasses on the couch, Clint,_ but there was apple juice in the fridge and that was _clearly_ meant to go in the cup with the apples on it, and that made Clint feel happy rather than rebellious. It was obviously meant to be. Only a little, tiny bit of it ended up on the counter, anyway, and Daddy would probably never notice. 

Kitty and Piglet were all in favour of watching Brave again, but Clint really, really wanted to watch Fraggle Rock. His Netflix queue suggested a number of other kid-friendly things, too, which Clint felt sure he'd be less than pleased with the next time someone came by to hang out and discovered that Clint's list was about 50/50 Pixar and Disney, but the punky little muppets from the 80's were calling to him. The dog was cute, too, and the trolls kinda looked like the lady that sometimes fed the birds in the park. 

Kitty and Piglet liked it, too. Clint's thumb snuck upwards towards his mouth towards the middle of an episode that was particularly exciting. He curled up sideways, tilted his head away from the wet spot his hair had made on the cushions, and let Kitty be the barrier between the scratchy, rough fabric of the decorative pillow in the corner and his face. Piglet smiled up at him, ears flopping madly, pointedly staring away from the fourth episode. 

_"Fine,"_ Clint muttered, scowling at the pig. "I'll put on something else when they're done, 'kay?"

 

-

 

When Phil walked in the door, he'd expected to be hit with the scent of takeout Pizza and Clint's wet boots thrown haphazardly on the doormat. He found one, but not the other. The kitchen was deserted, apart from a couple open cupboards and a carton of room temperature apple juice next to a little puddle on the counter. _Huh._

 The bathroom was deserted, too, though the wet towels strewn over the damp patches on the floor proved that Clint _had_ been in there at one point. 

 "You'd better not be sitting in my chair, Goldilocks," he mumbled, plucking at the set of damp clothes thrown carelessly _on top_ of the laundry basket. Clint's closet door was thrown open, too, as well as his underwear drawer where a set of briefs and two diapers stuck up from their usual neat arrangement like something had been tugged out.

 "Clint?" 

 

In the living room, fast asleep in front of his Netflix home screen, red light bouncing off his face, was Clint. He was wearing the soft sweats Phil had bough ton a whim because _purple,_ and because his old ones were possibly a little bit falling apart from mould and wear, and both Piglet and Kitty were close at hand. Phil sat down beside him, stroked his short hair away from his forehead, and smiled at the hazy grey eyes that slit open to focus on him. Clint pulled his thumb out of his mouth, managing to drool all over his cheek in the process, and blinked, looking disturbingly peaceful for the mayhem he'd left in his wake. 

"D-Phil," he whispered in a sleep rough voice. "Wasn's'posed to fall 'sleep." 

He dragged himself into a sitting position, the hair on his head standing up in all directions after having slept on the couch so soon after his shower. He grimaced, and pulled a half empty sippy cup out from underneath him. 

"You were tired," Phil said, smiling softly at the mess sitting in front of him. "It's okay. How was your day?"

"Wet," Clint replied with a grimace. "You?"

"Long," Phil laughed. "Did you eat?" Clint shook his head, then shifted, and grimaced again. He got up from the couch just as Phil did, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

"Hold it," he said, holding out his hand to Clint, who turned back to him and blushed. He tossed the phone onto the table, then tugged Clint closer. "JARVIS, could you order us a large pepperoni pizza, please?"

"Certainly, Agent Coulson."

"Right," Phil muttered, and patted Clint's sweats lightly. "We've got time for a change beforehand, I think, huh?"

 Clint whined, and hid his head against Phil's shoulder. The diaper felt a little squishy and damp between his legs, and though he didn't remember doing it, he must've wet it while he was asleep. Phil was nice about Clint being such a goddamned baby sometimes, but this wasn't the kind of thing Clint wanted to put him through after a 12 hour work day. 

 "Sorry," he whispered, as Phil dragged him towards the bathroom. He felt trapped right between his big and little side, but he couldn't quite make himself fall into either one, either. "Didn't mean to."

"That'll be why you're wearing a diaper to bed tonight," Phil replied, and kissed his cheek before guiding him to lie down on the changing mat he'd spread out on the bathroom floor. Clint blushed bright red as Phil opened the tapes and frowned at him. "No cream? You'll get a rash."

He laughed as Clint tugged the closest bathrobe over his face. "This isn't actually happening," he muttered, and then Phil laughed even harder. "I'm dreaming. This is a dream. It's like that dream where you're in class."

"That's supposed to be _naked_ in class, Clint," Phil laughed. 

"Ew, that's weird, Phil. Why would anyone be naked in class?"

Phil tickled him behind his knee, and then threw himself sideways to dodge Clint's accidental kick to his jaw.

It felt better when Daddy changed him, he had to admit. More snug, kinda. He toddled out to the couch again just as the elevator dinged and Phil went out to the hallway to get their pizza. 

 

"What were you watching?" Phil asked, re-screwing the lid of the blue sippy cup.

"Fraggle Rock," Clint replied, "but Piglet really wanted to watch Brave."

"He did, huh?"

Phil's Netflix queue was kinda full of Disney too. Clint balanced the plate of pizza on his lap, and shifted. It _really did_ feel like he was sitting on a pillow, but it wasn't so bad. Phil didn't usually let him have pizza unless Clint had already ordered it when he wasn't home. 

"Well, I suppose Piglet's pretty fond of people with bows and arrows, huh? I can get on that," Daddy said and winked at him over his plate.

Clint grinned, then bent over to make sure the pepperoni he'd missed with his mouth ended on his plate and not himself. "Aw, pizza," he mumbled while picking it off his t-shirt. He frowned at the circular grease stain left behind on his previously mostly clean t-shirt.

 

A while later they curled up on their sides, face to face on the bed. Phil had hung his shirt neatly on a hanger over the closet door, and Clint had dropped his entire attire, pizza stained and with apple juice all along the left thigh of his pants, on top of the hamper. Clint had toothpaste on his cheek, and Phil's hair was wet from the quick wash he'd had before bed.

"You know, I think I like coming home to little-you more than big-you." 

Clint blinked heavy lids at him, but didn't look nearly as offended as he should, so Phil tugged his hands free so he could sign more easily. Clint's purple hearing aids were safely nestled in the little box on Phil's night stand, and though the lights were dimmed, the little orange night-light next to Clint's bed gave a cheerful glow to the room. He repeated himself, and Clint scowled.

"At least he manages to put his clothes in the same _room_ as the laundry hamper."


	6. Dr. Phil's pet hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the complications of Clint getting an ear infection, Natasha finding out their secret hadn't seemed an obvious one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hadn't quite expected this thing to take off like it has, but I don't feel like I'm losing momentum, so there'll be more. I accidentally started on a longer work, too, but we'll see. 
> 
> Italics represent sign language, though I might have missed a few.   
> The structure isn't representative of ASL, but as I rarely translate other languages with original syntax intact (except by accident) that's probably for the best. Let me know if I've messed anything up.
> 
> Same warning as always: Don't like, don't read.

 

 

 

"You shouldn't use q-tips in your ears," Phil said, and Clint could see him frowning at Clint's ear in the mirror. "It'll just push the ear wax in deeper, and you'll get an impacted ear."

  
"Yeah, _thank you, Dr. Phil,"_ Clint said, "but I'm not going to the ENT to get wax removed until next week, and I'm pretty sure there's water stuck in there from the pool or something." He prodded the little bud deeper, until he felt it poke against his eardrum. He winced, and tugged it away before it could do any more damage. The room spun a little. "Ow."

 

"That's it, I'm throwing these out," Phil said, and stomped away with the box in his hands. Clint frowned at his back, but the bubbling in his ear really was getting on his nerves. The left hearing aid was still attached, and through it he heard the kitchen cupboards slamming. Only having one in left him feeling strangely lopsided, though, so finally he just tugged both of them out and left them in the little drying box on the shelf, the battery doors open and everything. 

 

".. . …. … .?" Phil said once Clint walked into the kitchen, and looked up at him expectantly. "Sorry," Clint said, hoping he wasn't too loud or weird or anything. " _Felt weird,"_ he signed. 

" _Will you be okay for work?"_ Phil signed back, after straightening up and pulling his suit back in order. _"Just going to the range, then home,"_ Clint replied. Phil nodded. " _I've got a few things to do before I head over to SHIELD,"_ he explained, looking a little sorry. He knew how much Clint hated going about his day without hearing anything at all, much less navigating public transportation while down a sense. Clint shrugged, they kissed, and then once Phil was in the elevator he rubbed his face with his hands while leaning on the kitchen counter for the better part of a minute, groaning out loud. 

 

It wasn't as if he'd never gone without them before. His hearing aids broke, sometimes he forgot to put them in, other times his head hurt or he just didn't feel like it. Hell, he'd gone years without them in the first place, but that was before everyone and their mom knew who he was. 

 

Still, it'd been a long time since he'd gone a full day without them, and halfway through his regular session of "shooting arrows into other people's targets to piss them off" the silence and accompanying ear splitting whistle in his head started to get to him. Even standing still he could feel a heart beat in his head, steady and fast. _Thump. Thump._

 

Natasha, who'd come into the booth next to him, and was steadily emptying her clip perfectly into the target ahead of her was squinting at him. "Ok?" She mouthed, and he nodded. "Lunch?" she signed, and he nodded again, because he kinda wanted to sit down for a bit.

 

The wardrobes were busy around lunch. They were shared between the gym and the range, and while Clint normally ended up sweaty and dirty and pretty much a prime candidate for a shower, he'd skipped his regular sparring rounds. The shower heads, which were set at an automatic temperature and had that annoying water-saving thing where they switched off after a few seconds felt cold, and his skin oddly sensitive. The faint sounds of voices bouncing off the tiled walls were somehow more grating than normal, too, and when he sat down to tie his boot laces on the bench in front of his locker, his body sighed with the relief of finally being off his feet. He studiously avoided the others in the room, even though most of them met at least weekly as they rotated through, and when he finally stumbled out of the wardrobe, Natasha was already leaning against the wall opposite, looking bored and like she'd been waiting forever. 

 

_"Little Hawk,"_ Natasha signed, looking almost fond as he sat down by her table. _"Your lunch is disgusting."_

 

She speared two pieces of feta cheese and a tomato with her fork, and almost shoved it at his face. The smell of the balsamic vinegar made his nose twitch, and he turned away from it, pretty sure he'd made some kind of noise by the look on her face. " _You_ like _cheese,"_ she signed, and he shrugged, forcing his spoon deep into the big bowl of jello he'd bought for lunch. The gigantic cup of tea in front of him sent little tendrils of steam into the air. It smelled cleaner than her salad, in a way. Less greasy. 

 

She signed to him in between bites, and he replied in shrugs and words he hoped weren't too loud, but didn't feel like instigating conversation. He felt her gaze on him over the rim of his cup. 

 

" _We've still got to go over that case-you-know,"_ she finally signed when she'd eaten all the chicken and cheese and tomatoes in her salad, leaving the pile of arugula leaves and pasta screws she didn't seem to like. Clint wondered why she kept buying salads, if she didn't like it. She tapped the table in front of him, and the vibration made him turn his face up again. She waved her hand. _"Earth to Little Hawk?"_ She signed, and he straightened up. 

_"Sure,"_ he replied, because sitting quietly at his desk didn't sound so bad. "Did you get all the maps together?"

 

She shook her head to indicate that he should shut up, and he promptly blushed fire-engine red. "Sorry," he mumbled, and noticed her gaze harden on something -  or someone - behind him. _"Aids?"_ She asked, and he shook his head. "Home, felt funny." 

"Don't worry, you were just a little loud. Doesn't matter. Come on." He blinked as she gathered up their stuff in a hurry. 

 

They'd been sharing an office for ages, and the walls were covered in dumb print-outs and old notes from various other SHIELD agents reminding them (mostly Clint) to do this or that. Their desks were littered with the kind of mess and generic office supplies that indicated how little time they actually spent in front of their computers, and the printer that sat on the left of the tiny sofa squashed up against the wall had a thick layer of dust on it. Natasha threw herself into the chair on her side of the desk, back to the door. Clint leaned back, and felt grateful that however little Clint knew about offices, he'd at least taken care to get himself a really, really comfy desk chair. 

 

_"It squeaks,"_ Natasha signed, kicking his shin under the table. He flipped her off, and prodded the little on-button on his screen. It came alive to the same violently purple backdrop he as always, with a goat in a birthday hat adorning the desktop background.

  
"What are we doing again?" He asked, and Natasha frowned over at him. _"Work,"_ she replied, and scribbled down notes and numbers on the printed maps spread out over the work table in front of her. 

 

-

 

"You need to come pick up your hawk," the message read. Phil stared at it, then double checked the sender. Sure enough, it was Natasha. 

 

"What did he do?" He wrote back, in an attempt to steer conversation over to familiar ground, because Natasha didn't _do_ mothering. Murder? Sure. Pranks? Definitely. Coddling? He'd yet to see it, but he supposed if she'd pick anyone to mother, it'd be Clint. 

  
"Fell asleep at his desk and drooled all over his notes." He frowned at his desk, then patted down his pockets for no discernible reason other than habit. Keys, phone? Phone. Oh, in his hand. _Duh._

 

"Coming," he typed back, and managed to not tip over his coffee cup while undocking his laptop and shoving it into his bag. 

 

Natasha and Clint had one of the offices that didn't have windows or a separate bathroom or couch area for meetings, mostly because the only times they used it they were chomping at the bit to get out, or were being punished for whatever they'd done on their last mission. As a result, the gigantic black leather chair Clint had insisted on getting for his desk hadn't made much sense until Phil saw him tilted back with a grey shawl draped over his chest like a blanket - he frowned at Natasha who was studiously typing out an e-mail he was pretty sure was entirely fake - deeply asleep and comfortable looking. 

"Coulson," she muttered. "You need to take him home, and I want a new scarf to replace that one." She nodded towards Clint, who was drooling onto his shoulder. His cheeks looked a little flushed.

  
"What did he do?" Phil asked, and she shrugged, looking uncomfortable now. 

"Looked all mopey when I found him at the range. Had disgusting jello for lunch, didn't steal my cheese. Agreed to come here to work. Napping is the only normal thing he's done all day, Phil."

 

"Shit," Phil agreed. 

 

"I'm going to leave now, but I will be waiting just outside the door." The door clicked shut quietly, but Clint didn't move a muscle until Phil nudged his chair. He came awake so violently Phil only just avoided a flailing fist to the face by grabbing it as soon as Clint moved. "You're okay," he said, even though Clint obviously wouldn't hear him. 

"Huh?" Clint said, looking confused and sleep warm. His eyes were shiny, in that fever bright way Phil had noticed before. Already blue bags were appearing around his eyes. 

" _Fell asleep,"_ Phil signed when Clint had finished rubbing his eyes with his fists and yawning. " _Going home."_  

"Yeah," Clint mumbled.

 

They left the office a minute later. Phil had his arm on the small of Clint's back, but halted when Natasha put a hand on his shoulder. 

"I'm coming over tomorrow," she said.

He nodded, nonplused. 

 

There were cars meant for just this purpose, and Phil felt relieved to drop his messenger bag into the back seat of a grey Mercedes a few minutes later. Clint dropped into the passenger seat with a thump, and then immediately started fiddling with the radio. Phil slapped his hands away. 

" _I'm not driving with the volume you prefer on what you call music,"_ he signed. _"Go to sleep, I'll wake you up when we get home."_

 

They waited in stop-start traffic for the better part of half an hour, but it was still better than the subway. Clint dozed, looking a little sweaty and flushed from where Phil was sitting, but didn't say much on the way back. Finally, they pulled into the tower garage. 

 

The elevator shook itself into movement with a jerk a moment later, and Clint, who'd been standing in the middle lost his balance pretty much immediately. Phil reached out a hand and tugged him over. Whiting moments, Clint had nosed his way under his chin, his nose cold and forehead clammy against Phil's neck. "Dun' feel so good, Daddy," he whispered, and Phil stroked the warm skin under his t-shirt soothingly until the doors dinged open. 

 

It felt funny to be home in the middle of the day, and Phil was distantly aware that he hadn't let anyone know he was actually going home for the day when his phone alerted him to an e-mail of some kind. Sun shone through the large windows, and the sofa looked soft and inviting, but he herded Clint through to their bedroom instead. 

"'m I goin' to bed?" Clint whispered, sounding a little disappointed, and Phil smiled softly. Clint, when he didn't have his hearing aids in, failed miserably at keeping emotion out of his voice. 

 

Right then he just sounded tired and young, and Phil smoothed blonde hair away from his clammy forehead. 

 

_"Daddy needs to take your temperature,"_ he signed, and let Clint squirm his way down onto the bed on his back. He felt grey eyes following him around the room as he gathered up soft pajamas and various bits and bobs. "Want the bees," Clint mumbled, and when Phil turned to look at him he had his thumb close to his lips while the other hand tugged at his right ear. 

 

He sat on the side of the bed so Clint could look straight up at his face, and tapped his writs. _"Do you need to see a doctor?"_

 

Clint blinked at him, then frowned. "Not yet," he replied, and Phil nodded. Ear infections were pretty much run of the mill with Clint, because however good he was about not keeping his hearing aids in all the time, his ears would still fill with fluid. The infection brewed for any length of time before it bloomed, bringing fever and burst ear drums and general misery. He knew Clint was hoping the infection would die down on its own, because the doctors had stated very plainly that penicillin wasn't a good cure for ear infections half the time anyway, and it wasn't healthy to keep taking them all the time. There wasn't much to do apart from letting it rage itself out, or take long enough that it became clear it wasn't going to go away on its own. 

 

"Can I be little?" Clint asked, just as Phil tugged his sweaty socks off. _"I thought you already were,"_ Phil signed back. _"Yeah, of course, I just need to call Maria."_ Clint blinked at him, seemingly uninterested in the grown-up side of it all now that he'd been given permission to not give a crap. "C'n I have the bees?"

 

His voice was loud in that unaware way he had when he couldn't hear himself, but Phil made it a rule not to point it out to him. It just made Clint go quiet and embarrassed. He held up the pale yellow pajamas with a little bee stitched to the front pocket. They were worn soft, washed out and almost to the point of fraying at the sleeves, but they were loose and comfy. Clint smiled, index finger hooked in his mouth.

 

Phil started threading Clint's feet into a clean pair of underwear when Clint squirmed, and blinked up at him. "Um. Maybe. Can I wear a. Um."

He went bright red all of a sudden, and Phil stared at him until it clicked. He nodded. 

_"I wanna sleep,"_ Clint signed, and then rubbed his eyes with his fists again. Phil pulled Kitty and Piglet out of the nightstand cabinet, and smiled when Clint immediately pulled Kitty up to rub against his nose. He tapped Clint to make him lift his hips, and then again to let him ease back down so he could tape him up, careful not to get powder on the sticky tapes. The pajamas, loose and soft with wear fit easily over the extra padding, and the waistband elastic looked snug, but nowhere near tight enough to be uncomfortable. Phil's thumb rubbed against Clint's knee. _"Better?"_ He signed, and Clint nodded, piglet in his hand and Kitty up by his face still. _"Want your pacifier?"_

"Yeah," Clint breathed, and followed Phil closely out to the living room. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, and Phil found himself texting Maria from his standing position halfway between the kitchen and the living room, a sippy cup of lukewarm tea in his hand. Clint sat in what was already resembling his usual "I'm sick"-nest on the couch, complete with quilts and soft blankets, Piglet squished in next to him and Kitty clutched in his hand, up around his right ear. He was blinking at the TV, which was showing cartoons with the captions on and - mercifully - no sound. 

 

He tapped Clint's shoulder to catch his attention. _"Is there room for me in that mess?"_

Clint smiled weakly around his pacifier, but moved to the side a little so Phil could wedge himself in. Then he draped himself all over Phil like a sloth, his breathing faster than normal. It was like wearing a very large, very warm blanket, Phil thought, and changed the channel. 

 

Clint didn't fall asleep, per se. It felt a lot better to be horizontal, draped all over Phil like a human mattress, even though Phil had the remote and was making Clint watch "Hoarding - buried alive" with captions on. He sucked his pacifier calmly, and his left ear popped, then ached. He winced. Ear infections _sucked._ It sucked worse when you were stuck in an office and couldn't stay awake even though you were worried you'd pee your pants, though. 

 

He squirmed, and then sighed as Phil's fingers began stroking the skin right above the waist of his pants. He kinda needed to pee, sorta, but the bathroom felt very far away, and being close to Phil felt a lot better. Normally when he was awake he used the potty just fine, but he was pretty sure Phil'd forgive him if he wet when he was sick, even though he was a icky little baby for even considering it. He rubbed Kitty against his nose and let go. Warmth enveloped his front, tickled against his skin, and he hoped he wouldn't leak all over Daddy's pants. Phil's fingers paused for a moment, then patted the back of his diaper. Clint blushed, but it was hard to care too much. It wasn't his responsibility right now. 

 

He wedged kitty between his ear and Phil's chest, and drifted off. 

 

Phil tried to ease Clint's head down on a pillow without waking him, and held his breath when Clint squirmed and whined against Piglets' belly. He held out the pacifier again, and Clint sucked it in, stared around with bleary eyes, and then closed them again. Phil breathed a sigh of relief, and stretched. He felt clammy, having been trapped under a feverish Clint for the better part of an hour.

 

Instead of going back to the couch he puttered around for a while, made tea and considered dinner options, then discarded every single one and decided on takeout. He'd replied to three e-mails, was about to send off a fourth when a thud and a whine in the living room made him jump up from the kitchen table. Clint was in a pile of blankets on the floor, but seemed mostly pissed off for having tripped. "Daddy," he whined, and Phil couldn't help but laugh as he extracted a red-faced, pissed of hawk from a pile of blankets. "Got trapped," Clint said, and let Phil kiss his nose. 

_"Hungry?"_ He signed, and Clint shook his head. "Nuh. Dizzy. Wanna play."

 

Phil shook his head the ceiling, and then patted Clint's backside. The diaper felt a little swollen, and he didn't want Clint to get a rash. Clint whined again, and tried to bury his face in Phil's shirt. He turned them both around and herded a sleepy, whiny kid towards the bathroom. 

 

-

 

When Clint got sick he normally hid away to nurse his aches in peace. He took his antibiotics, took his painkillers, and let the doctors patch him up with the air of someone truly impatient to get better, but familiar with the fact that to get better he'd have to let the doctors do their jobs. He didn't complain, he didn't whine, but he was a nightmare to live with. 

If anyone could get sick of being still, it was Clint. Without fail, Phil came home to a boyfriend bouncing off the walls within a week. 

 

When Clint was little he cried at the smallest ache, whined when it didn't get better or he was tired or couldn't sleep. He looked at Phil with big, grey eyes, red rimmed and teary, and wanted Phil to make everything _better. Right now, Daddy,_ even though there was nothing Phil _could_ do to magically make Clint's ears stop filling with fluid all the damn time. 

 

The table was littered with takeaway. The carton of rice hadn't been closed, and the grains on the top were dry and hard. Next to it stood a sippy cup half filled with weak tea, and next to it stood one with water. Phil's fingers were carding through Clint's hair, while one hand held him close around the shoulders. The heating pad felt overly warm against his stomach, but when he'd put it against Clint's ear he'd sighed and fluttered his eyes, and stopped doing that heart breaking hitched breathing that meant his ear was killing him.

 

It was dark. The fridge hummed out in the kitchen, and outside the usual buzz of the city felt distant and familiar. Clint snuffled, then whined and squirmed in Phil's arms. He let his fingers card through the sweaty, blonde hair again, and then looked down to find Clint's grey eyes blinking open.

 

"Hurts," he whispered groggily, in a voice that sounded hoarse and exhausted. "Need a doctor, Phil," he mumbled, and Phil sat them both up. "Sorry," Clint muttered, but Phil kissed his neck and tugged them both into the bedroom. 

 

Clint's skin felt dry and hot, so Phil shoved a sippy cup of water into his hands while he tugged off the yellow pajamas and untaped the wet diaper he had on. He held out underwear and a pull up, but Clint blinked heavy eyes up at him and shook his head. "'m not gonna keep dry," he mumbled, and Phil obligingly helped him into a dry diaper and a cotton onesie, just to make sure there were no snapshots of Hawkeye with a diaper sticking out of his pants in the morning papers. 

 

Phil's old workout hoodie was big enough on Clint that it just about covered his bottom, but he was wearing baggy, black sweats anyway, and Phil didn't think it'd be noticeable to anyone who didn't know what they were looking for. 

 

He stood, watching his face in the reflection on the elevator door. He looked tired, too, though he had nothing on Clint. Like he needed a shave and a good night's sleep. Clint shifted and whined, his hand going up to tug at his ear again.

 

The drive to the ER was quiet, too, and Clint spent most of it with his thumb in his mouth and his eyes on the passenger side window while Phil cursed taxi drivers and drunk people for their bumbling, confused driving. 

 

Then they sat in a waiting room while Phil clutched Clint's papers and information, and Clint tried to rest against his shoulder, because however much SHIELD paid for their insurance at an upscale facility, there were always people who needed more help than they did in the middle of the night. 

 

By the time they'd checked Clint's temperature and got him settled on a hard cot in a single examination room, they were both feeling worn thin and exhausted. Clint kept tugging at his right ear, his breathing shallow and fast, and Phil kept trying to find something useful to do. In the end, he just stood there smoothing Clint's hair back until he was sure it'd fall off. 

 

"There's fluid in his ear," the doctor said when he finally came in, munching casually on a snicker bar. "That's the trouble."

 

Phil signed for Clint, who wasn't paying attention other than to make sure Phil wasn't leaving, and then replied "yes, we're aware," in the least sarcastic voice he could find. The doctor swallowed, threw the wrapper out, and maybe Phil hadn't kept his sarcasm completely under check, because he then settled on a stool and rolled himself over to look Clint's ear over again. 

 

"I think," he said, waiting to make sure Clint was watching Phil sign for him. "The best chance we have is to drain it." Clint's face paled, and he squirmed. Phil felt pretty sure he'd need a change before long. "It's not a big deal," the doctor went on, looking consoling. "We'll numb your ear so you wont feel it, we'll remove the pus in your ear, and insert a little tube that will allow fluid and pressure to escape until the swelling in your ear has gone down and the infection has cleared. If you're having these infections often you might bring it up with your doctor to have a permanent one put in, because this one will fall out within six weeks or so." 

 

Clint blinked at Phil, then shrugged, and let the doctor get a nurse and whatever equipment he needed ready. "'s okay," he mumbled. "They did it last time, too, but the doctor wanted to wait and see if I needed another one." Phil frowned. " _I'll let him know it's necessary, then,"_ he signed, feeling less than charitable at 4:30 am. 

 

However much Clint had been through it before, it was all pretty scary. He still felt stuck in that between-space where he was very glad Phil was right next to him and that he'd worn a diaper - which was wet and he wasn't sure when that had even happened but whatever - but kinda embarrassed that he couldn't seem to let Phil's hand go, even when the nurse inserted an IV into it. 

"Why do I need it?" He complained, and Phil rolled his eyes. "Standard procedure," he said, or something like it because Clint wasn't letting his hand go to sign. 

 

He probably wet a little more when the doctor had his nose up against the microscope and seemed very focused and serious, but the swelling between his legs didn't much matter. He just wanted to go home to bed. Phil rubbed little circles into his hand. All in all, the procedure only took a few minutes.

 

"I'd recommend you set up an appointment with his regular ENT in the next couple of days. I'm assuming he has one?"

 

Phil nodded, and let Clint manipulate and play with the fingers of his right hand, seemingly unconcerned with whatever the doctor was saying. _Time to go home._

 

"You can send the bill directly to SHIELD," Phil said, trying to make the process go faster. The little bag of antibiotics was already hidden away deep in the diaper bag disguised as a messenger bag between Phil's feet, and early morning light peeked through the frosted windows. 

  
"Make sure no water gets in that ear, all right? And it might be a wise idea to use an open plug on his hearing aid for a while for ventilation. It's all in there," the doctor indicated, looking at the envelope he'd handed Phil. 

 

"Thank you for your help, doctor, I'll make sure."

 

Small mercies, he thought as they made their way back home in the early morning traffic, Clint fast asleep next to him. The doctor didn't recognize them, the hospital hadn't alerted the media, and Clint was obviously feeling better now that the pressure in his ear had eased off. 

 

He felt calmer, though very tired, and glad the night had finally come to an end. The only thing that could've made it worse was waiting for them outside the door to their apartment, arms folded tightly over her chest. Phil groaned internally. He'd forgotten, and of course she figured 6 am was the perfect time to show up at their door. Clint threw a look at her, then studiously kept his eyes on the floor while Phil walked them in through the front door. Phil was pretty sure Clint was trying to hide the wet diaper that was widening his stance, and the marks on his wet thumb from having sucked it the entire way home. He didn't think it'd miss Natasha's gaze, though, however much Clint looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

 

"I'll be out in fifteen," Phil said, and closed the door behind him. _Shit._ Why was it that every time he thought a miserable situation was coming to an end, he ended up accidentally outing Clint to their friends?  


 

 

 


	9. Tea and sympathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be pretty busy this next week, and I've been down and out with a double ear infection (slight inspiration there, ha) for a week, so I'm lagging badly behind in studies and at work.   
> In other words: Don't expect another update for a little while (weekend/next week-ish). 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one. <3

Phil didn't know much about the inner workings of Natasha Romanov. Once, when they'd been arguing, he'd made the mistake of saying "you seem to not want to -" and the rest had been cut off by her twisting his nipple through three layers of suit and promptly leaving the room. He hadn't heard from her in two days, but when she showed up he'd gotten the message. _Never, ever, try to guess what the Black Widow does or doesn't feel._

 

Clint was a sort of soft, malleable putty as Phil tipped him onto their bed. When his eyes were open they did that thing where they danced forth and back, trying to keep hold of something with his eyes to convince himself the room wasn't spinning. Phil knew he was dizzy and drugged and tired. 

 

"Another minute, and you can sleep, sweetheart. Just one minute, all right?" He didn't know if he was talking to himself or to Clint, but it didn't much matter.

  
Clint squirmed, and shoved his face deep into Kitty. Kitty didn't seem to disagree, so he stayed there while Phil untied his sweats and pulled them off completely along with his socks. The clothes were a little damp in his hands, Clint's fever running water through him on an open faucet. He was soaked to the tapes, too, and getting a little red when Phil finally managed to maneuver him onto a changing pad. 

"Sorry," he said, even though Clint wasn't hearing a word of it. He stroked his knee instead, and waited until the cool air on the reddened spots didn't sting. Clint jumped a little when the cotton cloth, damp and lukewarm, touched the sensitive skin, but didn't complain. Phil supposed it wasn't that bad compared to his ear. The scent of honey spread in the room, and Phil silently sent a thanks to Burt and his bees, wherever they were, because it was a hell of a lot nicer than normal rash cream. 

Also, he kinda thought honey was a little bit magical, and Clint seemed soothed by the scent.

 

Clint let him tug Kitty away to get him out of the damp, sweaty onesie he'd been wearing, and then let Phil manhandle him into a clean, dry t-shirt instead. It was pale yellow again, though the chest was decorated with a large, washed out print of a rabbit eating a carrot. Phil wasn't much for gender typical colors, but Clint hadn't complained so far. He looked sweet in just his diaper, decorated with little teddy bears, and the rabbit shirt.

 

Phil washed his face off with a damp cloth, and Clint spluttered. He grabbed his pacifier from the nightstand and closed his eyes while Phil tidied up, putting cloths in the wash settled the diaper supplies back in the lockable drawer under their bed where they belonged. 

 

_"Natasha is outside,"_ he signed, and then kissed Clint on the forehead. His eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. _"I will take care of it. Do you want me to send her away?"_

 

Clint blinked at him for a moment, and Phil could see the adult behind the sleepiness and the cozy smell of beeswax and powder, then shook his head. "She probably knows anyway," he garbled around the pacifier, pale blue and white.

_"Sleep,"_ Phil signed, and sat up. _"I'll bring you a bottle of water."_

 

Clint closed his eyes, but tugged a half-full baby bottle of water out from below Phil's pillow, and shook it in his direction. Phil took it as his cue to leave.

 

-

 

"We just came back from the ER where they punctured his eardrum to drain the infection," Phil said, without turning around from where he was loading the dishwasher with sticky sippy cup lids and stained coffee cups. The water was still running in the sink, splashing off spoons with honey residue and tea bags he'd forgotten to throw out. 

 

"I know," she replied easily, then hefted herself up onto the kitchen counter. Phil knew she'd waited to enter because she knew something was up, but he also knew JARVIS was listening and had more than likely let her in. Keeping Natasha out when she wanted in wasn't, in his experience, a good idea.

 

"He's asleep. Don't wake him up."

 

She scowled at him, and he sighed, leaning his weight on his shoulders and arms, which were still clutching the front of the dishwasher he'd yet to start up. 

 

"I'm not here to talk to him. Yet."

 

He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry, Nat, I haven't slept. He's been up all night, so.."

"So you've been up all night," she finished his sentence, then flicked the switch on the kettle to her left. He responded by pulling out two cups from the cupboard next to him. She put tea bags in both of them. The little kettle grumbled and burbled happily in the quiet kitchen, and the dishwasher sucked water from the pipes with a sort of hum. 

 

"How long have you known?"

 

"Suspected or really known?"

 

He gestured at her with his hand, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He should swap his contacts for glasses before they dried completely - should've done that hours ago before falling asleep in them. 

 

"A very long time," she said, and he sighed. "It was your game, not mine, and I don't want to be 'auntie 'Tash' or anything similarly dumb, so. I waited."

 

He poured water from the kettle whistling happily on the counter into the cups, and let her tip her preferred mountain of sugar into it. He stuck with milk. 

 

"But he keeps sucking his thumb in his sleep, and in the last couple months he's started insisting that we get twin beds on missions. Phil, we don't always even have _beds,_ but he insists on sleeping away from me."

 

"He wets the bed," Phil supplied, then sipped his scalding tea with a lot of air to cool it down. She scowled at him. "I know that, because I have a nose, and I'm a trained assassin, and a grown man sneaking out of the room with all his sheets in his arms isn't exactly inconspicuous. But I didn't say anything!"

 

The last sentence was kind of a challenge, but Phil nodded. "I know you didn't. You wouldn't do that."

 

"No," she mumbled, relieved even though her eyes seemed very far away over the rim of her tea cup. "But it's getting a little unsafe, Phil. It's bleeding into the missions. He can wet the bed as much as he wants when he's home, but…"

"But it's not a good idea when you're flying under the radar in enemy territory," Phil finished. She shook her head. 

 

"It was lucky SHIELD was exposed the way it was," she said after a while, and crossed her legs with a graceful sort of twist until she was sitting entirely on their counter, squishing a little pot of fresh oregano against the glass of the window behind her. "Because it means we don't go out the way we used to anymore, with our covers blown they way they are." 

He nodded. "At least until we can build you new ones."

She looked at him, seriously, and he nodded. 

 

"I might be time to keep Hawkeye closer to home," she said, and then drew a deep breath. "And I'll join him when I'm here, but _Phil,"_ she said, and then put her cup down and shook out her overly warm fingers. "I wasn't made for close up fighting, I'm a _spy."_

 

"He'll understand," Phil said, because while Clint would bitch and moan and shout, he _would_ understand. "The tallies are mounting up against him, and to be fair, undercover work isn't his strong suit. It wasn't even before he lost his ears and got brainwashed and started…"

He didn't quite know what term to use to describe the way their home life had slowly bled into Clint's _everything_ -life. He flapped his hand descriptively instead, and she nodded. 

"He's a circus-raised, barely literate archer who _speaks,_ but can't read or write somewhere between three and five languages, and that's _great,"_ he went on, mostly speaking to himself now because he was pretty sure he and Natasha agreed that Clint was a pretty great guy in general, but somehow discussing his career while he was asleep in a bunny t-shirt in the next room over felt like they were betraying him.

 

"Maybe it's just time he flew a little closer to home. Worked with the Avengers, and not for SHIELD?" He finished. She nodded, picked up her cup and turned it over in her hands. Her hair had dark blonde after-growth showing at the roots, and he frowned at it. It wasn't like her. 

 

"I'm tired," he announced, and she looked up, uncertain. "I'm going to go to bed. You know where things are, make yourself at home." He left the room with the cup still steaming on the kitchen table. 

 

The water in the shower was pleasantly warm, but after a few minutes of stewing under the spray the air grew too heavy with steam and he'd lost the contacts down the drain. _Whatever._ He did a crappy job of drying himself off, and slid into bed next to Clint with his shoulders still damp. The pillow case stuck to his skin. Clint squirmed himself in close and exhaled deeply against his collar bone. The plastic of his pacifier bumped against Phil, and Kitty was squashed under his chin while Piglet somehow ended up cradled between their bellies. He stroked Clint's fever lank hair and hoped he wouldn't wake up with drool and ear gunk all over his chest.

 

He didn't know how long after he'd settled down she joined them, but the bed dipped behind Clint and then jostled them both as a third person settled herself in. Their eyes met over Clint's head, though Clint himself was back to breathing evenly and deeply in sleep, his pacifier almost falling out. She settled down a little bit above Clint, like she meant to keep watch, and Phil made himself look away. 

 

"I'll babysit," she whispered into the dim light. The blackout curtains were still lowered. "But you don't get to call me any stupid names, and I'm not.. I'm not…"

"You don't have to be auntie Nat if you don't want to," he replied, smiling, "and I'm pretty sure he'd die before he let you change him. He barely let Steve do that."

 

_"Steve?"_ She said, and he made a note to punch himself in the throat in the morning, and then re-read the "basic interrogation resistance techniques"-manual. _He really_ had _to stop accidentally outing his teammates to each other._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna say hi or there's something you're too shy to leave in the comments here, feel free to drop me a message on [tumblr](http://marieincolour.tumblr.com/). :))


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